Gigi Sinclair

"Do you have to eat like that?" Trip looked up from his Big Mac and fries to see Malcolm staring censoriously at him.

"What?"

"It's disgusting."

"Well, sorry to offend your finer feelings, 'darlin'', but I gotta eat."

Malcolm gave him that condescending, snotty look. "Not like that you don't."

"You'd prefer I use a knife and fork?"

He sniffed disparagingly. "I'd prefer you not eat like a particularly uncivilized Labrador retriever."

That did it. Making sure to complement his actions with loud, appreciative grunts and smackings of his lips, Trip shoved the remaining two inches of Big Mac into his mouth, letting trickles of beef juice run over his chin. After a gulping swallow, he took a handful of fries, dragged them through his ketchup until there was more ketchup than fry, and chewed with his mouth open, letting Malcolm get a good view of the action.

Malcolm got up and left.

***

Although he would deny it if asked, Trip liked taking baths as much as Malcolm did. Showers were good enough, if you were in a hurry, but there was nothing like a bath, solo or shared, to relax after a hard day at the office. It was one of the things he'd missed the most on "Enterprise."

Trip filled the old claw-footed tub they'd had installed in the master bathroom, smiling in anticipation as the steam floated out of the bath alcove and covered the full-length mirrors. Sorting through the waterproof PADDs he kept in the cupboard, Trip selected one of his favourites, "The Dark Avenger Volume XXVI: Fortress of Fortitude," dropped his boxers, and slid into the water.

Leaning back on the bath pillow, he sighed contentedly and switched on the PADD, ready to escape to the swashbuckling, completely unrealistic adventures of the daring Dark Avenger and his loyal sidekick, the Lightning Kid.

What he got wasn't quite the adventure he'd been expecting.

"Lord Wesley Smythe-Berkshire leaned over Frederick, the nobleman's sea-blue irises fixed on the muscular stable boy's midnight-black orbs. In his excitement, Lord Smith-Berkshire's weeping cock stained his satin breeches, a fact that did not go unnoticed by young Frederick's muscular, virginal eyes. 'My lord,' he queried, muscular, farm-built chest heaving beneath his torn doublet, 'Is that a bayonet in your undergarments or do you merely have an appreciation for my innocent, muscular backside?'"

"Malcolm!" Trip leapt out of the bath and threw a towel around his waist. He dripped his way through three rooms before he found Malcolm lying on the couch, watching the news.

"Something wrong, Trip?"

"I'll say. You taped over my 'Dark Avenger' with your porn!"

Malcolm frowned at the vid-screen. "It's not porn. It's erotica."

"It's sick." Although Trip had to admit, half a hackneyed paragraph of "Stableyard Lust" had excited him more than all eighty-seven volumes of "The Dark Avenger" put together. Even the one where the Dominatrix took Lightning Boy to the Leather Palace. "And you covered up my book with it!"

"Please." Malcolm rolled his eyes. "That's not a book, it's a ridiculous comic. And you certainly reap the benefits when I read erotica, so I don't know why you're complaining."

"I…You…" Trip was so outraged, he couldn't compose a coherent sentence. "That was my book. You had no right to erase it."

"Then maybe you should have bought more blank PADDs when I asked you to, instead of using them all up on your comics and not replacing them."

"God, Malcolm, you'd drive a fucking saint to the brink." He gestured emphatically, then remembered that hand was holding his towel up. It fell to the ground, revealing just how fascinated Trip had been by his brief glimpse into the world of homoerotic literature.

Malcolm looked at it, nonplussed, then turned back to the screen.

"A saint would have bought more PADDs, Trip."

***

"Oh, God, Malcolm." Stretching, Trip tried to cover all of Malcolm's body, his tongue in Malcolm's mouth, his cock in Malcolm's ass, one hand in Malcolm's hair and the other on his thigh. It wasn't enough. Trip wished he had more limbs, so he could get even closer.

"Yes, Trip, love." Malcolm seemed to feel the same, winding his arms and legs around Trip. "I love you. Love you so fucking much," he panted, his warm, wet lips closing around Trip's earlobe. It was enough to send Trip over the edge. By the time he'd regained some semblance of consciousness, Malcolm's semen was coursing over Trip's body, matting his chest hair and sticking them together.

Trip held him until he stopped shuddering, then rolled off with a sticky, somewhat painful, squelch, making sure to stay snuggled into Malcolm's side. He knew Malcolm got whimpery if Trip went too far too quickly, and he could understand. He liked snuggling, too.

"Trip," Malcolm finally murmured, turning his head to lay a small kiss on Trip's collarbone. "Why does this work?"

"Well, honey, you see, when a man gets really excited…"

"Trip." Malcolm smiled and nudged him. "You know what I mean. We drive each other crazy, but it still works. Why?"

Trip didn't need to consider the question. "I love you."

"Still?"

"You want some more proof? Cause I gotta be honest, Mal, it'll be a while before I'm up for it again…"

"Trip," Malcolm repeated, sitting up a little. Trip did the same, leaning against the headboard and arranging Malcolm's head on his shoulder. "We've been together so long, sometimes I just get worried…"

Hearing that, and seeing the uncertain look in his eyes, broke Trip's heart. And made him curse, yet again, the childhood that had screwed this man up so completely that even now, he couldn't believe this was forever.

"Mal, I've been head over heels for you for twenty-three years. I can promise you, I'll be head over heels for you for the next twenty-three years. Longer." He turned his head to plant a kiss in Malcolm's salt-and-pepper hair. "You're stuck with me, darlin'."

"Good. That's all I need to know." Malcolm smiled, running a finger across Trip's sticky chest. "And you can eat your Big Macs however you want."

"And you can tape over all of my comics with porn."

"Erotica."

"Right." Trip sighed happily. "So," he continued their post-orgasmic ritual. "When's the wedding?" Trip had been asking for twenty-three years, and every time, Malcolm had the same answer. "When I knock you up all by myself." It was their longest running joke, one that made Trip feel even closer to Malcolm. He was so sure of Malcolm's answer, he was already dropping off when Malcolm said, quietly:

"We don't need one, love."

"What?" Trip jolted awake again. "Why?" Malcolm never deviated from the joke. "What do you mean?" Malcolm wouldn't leave him, would he? After all that…no, he wouldn't. He knew what he meant to Trip, how lost Trip would be without him. He knew he was Trip's whole life. Didn't he?

Panicked, Trip stared up at Malcolm who was leaning over him, a surprisingly soft, satisfied smile on his face. Trip felt his panic subsiding a little as Malcolm stroked his forehead. It disappeared completely when Malcolm concluded: "We already have a marriage."